But instead of responding, Zyren simply went ahead to fill the gold cup he held with more wine, even as he took the smallest of sips—almost like he had all the time in the world.
He stared at the door, even as he spoke to Savira, who lifted her head just a bit to look at him now that it no longer seemed like he was about to sever her head from the rest of her body.
"Do you know how crazy they would be if they were to find out that their king was birthed by a female werewolf?" Zyren asked, his voice so low that even if Aria were not completely passed out on the bed, she still wouldn’t have been able to make out a single word of what he said.
Savira simply nodded her head, her thoughts swirling. No one can ever find out. Only you and I know, she reminded herself, fully aware that the second that secret leaked, she would instantly be a dead woman.
"I wouldn’t dare, my king. Even on my last breath," Savira said, meaning every word of it as she quieted and waited for Zyren to give her further instructions.
"The bond ritual—what are the chances of it being a success without any side effects?" Zyren asked, his voice calm, though his gaze remained sharp.
Savira responded instantly. "Vampire rituals are barbaric. Moreover, her body would practically be turned mostly into that of a vampire. The chances of it succeeding depend largely on her survival," she told him truthfully.
Zyren nodded his head, taking another sip from his cup, a look of contemplation on his face as his crimson eyes dimmed with thought.
"Start preparing for it. Everything you need will be given to you," he instructed flatly.
Savira instantly bowed as she spoke, waiting to be sure Zyren was done before saying anything more.
"She has to be willing. She must choose to bond with you, my king, or it will fail before it even begins," she reminded him gently, her voice careful, respectful.
But the moment she finished speaking, she received a warning gaze—sharp enough that she instantly bowed her head again, her posture stiffening as though it hurt her, and as though she were nothing more than an old, frail woman.
"I’m aware, Savira. She’ll be willing," he said, his voice unwavering as he took another sip from his cup and gestured with a flick of his fingers for her to leave.
Savira didn’t have to be told twice. She dropped to her knees, bowing low before standing and turning around. With slow, steady steps, she walked out of the room, just in case he had anything more to ask her.
Zyren said nothing more, waiting until the door shut behind her before turning his gaze toward Aria, who still lay on the bed—completely dead to the world and everything happening around her.
Harriet had barely settled into her room when a maid walked in and introduced herself as Harriet’s new personal servant.
She was human, young, and from her demeanor, it was clear she was new and excited—eager to serve Harriet.
Harriet, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit excited, but she didn’t treat the girl coldly either. She had heard too much about the castle and knew better than to trust anyone—especially a maid. They were the easiest to manipulate, and the most easily controlled.
She was tired and hungry, but Xeera—her maid—had already taken the initiative to fetch her snacks, informing her that since they’d missed the scheduled time for breakfast, she would simply have to wait for lunch.
Setting up the room had taken a while, especially with all the things Harriet had received—gifts she couldn’t help but fawn over despite herself.
The collars were lined with gold and silver, some even studded with diamonds, and the sheer luxury of it made her heart bleed.
Just one of them was enough to make sure her family would never have to worry about money again for the rest of their lives.
She had three sisters and one little brother named Danny, whom she missed dearly. As she looked around at all the extravagant items, she couldn’t help but think about what she could send them now that she had more—more than she ever thought she’d have.
They had all been against her competing, but Harriet had learned how to fight from a young age—trained by her uncle. She knew that no other woman could beat her.
Of course, it didn’t help that society frowned on women learning such things—especially skills involving violence and killing.
Women were expected to stay home, raise children, and serve their husbands. There was no need for them to train as fighters, let alone killers.
The more she thought about her family, whom she hadn’t seen in so long—not since Lady Vivian had taken her away for further training—the more she missed them. Lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and eating her snacks, Harriet felt the ache of that longing settle in her chest.
Xeera sat on a nearby table, quietly observing her mistress, waiting for instructions. She was too thrilled to be serving the king’s future pet to think of anything else.
Everyone had seen the fight. Only a fool would believe Harriet could lose—especially when she had made it look so easy.
Fighting had looked easy.
As long as she’s not mean to me, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t support her and reap the benefits too, Xeera thought to herself, sitting up even straighter in the chair as she patiently waited.
That was the mood in the room until the door suddenly swung open with a loud, forceful kick.
A raging Lady Vivian stormed in, her expression thunderous. Anger poured from every inch of her being, radiating in waves from head to toe like she had no other outlet for it.
Harriet jumped off the bed at once, startled, while Xeera dropped to the floor in a deep bow, her heart pounding in her chest.
Neither of them could understand what they might have done wrong. They hadn’t even stepped outside the room they’d been assigned to.
Xeera had been given her duties directly by Lady Vivian, instructed to watch over Harriet, and she’d been doing just that. Still, she had hoped she could serve them both genuinely—loyally—especially since they were supposed to be on the same side.
But that hope shattered the moment she looked up to greet Lady Vivian—just in time to receive a heavy slap across the face.